


Hot Under the Collar

by firesonic152



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Jack gets rekt, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Spitroasting, Tentacles, fun with nanites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesonic152/pseuds/firesonic152
Summary: Jack is in the middle of a meeting with Winston about the Overwatch armory budget when he feels hot for no reason he can come up with.Inspired by this prompt: "Reaper ghosting past 76 on the battlefield time and again until there are enough nanites built up in his system to make things interesting."





	Hot Under the Collar

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much related to/inspired by this piece by SuspiciousPopsicle: http://allofthisnonsenseplease.tumblr.com/post/159251063569/untitled-post-recall-reaper76-ficlet-guess-what Please go read it, it’s really sweet!
> 
> This is the… less sweet take on her idea.

Jack is in the middle of a meeting with Winston about the Overwatch armory budget when he feels hot for no reason he can come up with.

It isn’t a matter of the temperature in the room suddenly changing, because it wouldn’t explain the way the heat shoots up his spine and then spreads unnaturally through his limbs, just under the surface of his skin. He knows he isn’t getting sick; he hasn’t caught a cold since SEP hijacked his immune system and kicked it up to the _n_ th degree.

Before he can ponder it further, the whatever-it-is sends a sharp sting of pleasure through him and all he can think is a frantic _what the fuck_. He sits up abruptly, like he's been punched, and Winston pauses mid-sentence to give him a concerned look over the top of his glasses. He hunches his shoulders and tries to ignore the more familiar heat of embarrassment blooming in his cheeks as he bids Winston to continue, deliberately ignoring the ominous drop of sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

Jack thinks for a moment that he can hear a familiar chuckle in his ear, but there’s no one in the room besides him and Winston. There isn’t even the convenient whistle of a breeze to blame it on. The tingling warmth recedes back into the column of his spine and seems to vanish. Nothing happens for several minutes, and he starts to think he imagined it.

Half an hour later, as Winston is – unnecessarily – explaining the difference between various types of arrowheads, it happens again. It’s more intense this time, embers bursting between his nerves, making his toes curl and his back arch instinctively. The sensation is unmistakably sexual.

He covers his mouth before he can make any awkward noises and fervently prays that Winston wasn’t paying enough attention to notice his precarious situation. He stands, knocking his chair back in his haste, and mutters a curt “I feel ill, I’m going to see Angela.” He marches out without sparing a glance back at the befuddled gorilla.

The walk back to his room is a quiet blur. As soon as his door is shut and locked behind him, he collapses on his bed with a groan.

_Why is it so hot?_

Now that he's alone, it only seems to get worse. He tears at his clothes, suddenly clumsy, unable to get his fingers to handle the simple buttons and zippers. Frustrated, he throws his visor off and buries his face in his pillow. He's shaking. He _wants_.

He grits his teeth, anchoring his hands in the wrinkled sheets. He hasn't felt like this in years – this _visceral_ arousal – and never by himself. It was always only with-

He doesn't let himself think about that. Not now. Not while, for some _godforsaken_ reason, he's only barely keeping himself from rutting against his mattress. He bites down on his pillow and gathers his knees under his body so he can palm at his aching cock. The harder he presses, the more the heat builds and rolls over him in a tidal wave. He must look pathetic, he thinks hazily, on his knees, face down and ass up, pushing viciously into his own hand through his pants.

He whines, the sound muffled by his pillowcase, and feels his legs collapse under his weight. He gathers all his energy and manages to flip over onto his back, shove his pants and underwear down to his thighs, and finally, _finally_ clutch at his cock.

It doesn't take long for him to be writhing and grasping at his sheets, painfully empty, burning everywhere but deep inside where he needs it. But then, as if in answer to his silent pleading, the heat begins to collect itself, tangibly filling the space inside him and his heels dig desperately into the bed as he tips his head back, gasping. It's not enough – it doesn’t reach far enough, a tight ball of fire maddeningly close to his prostate, _not close enough_ \- but it’s solid and real and he nearly _sobs_ when he cants his hips and finds nothing to push back against.

He twists and squeezes his dick in motions more violent than pleasurable, frantically trying to push the overpowering _need_ out of his body. Cum spills out over his fist before he expects it, but the panic swarming through his veins only becomes more frenzied when his orgasm brings no discernible relief. It's hot, it's _hot_ , his blood is boiling, every inch of him is sticky with sweat, he can’t swallow around his heavy gasps for air-

And then there's something cold on his skin. It presses softly against his arm, across his forehead. He opens his eyes and it's not all that helpful, but he can make out a blurry dark shape above him. He can't feel a weight on the bed or on top of him, and he’s sure the roiling insanity of desire is making him hallucinate.

But then it's kissing him and the cold feels so good against his feverish body that he can't help the moan that escapes him. It becomes solid against him, bears down on him, and he hears a possessive growl in response to his quiet cry of relief and _oh_.

"Reaper," he hisses between his teeth.

“Of course,” replies that harsh voice. Jack feels lips on his neck. “Finally. Do you know how long it took me to transfer just this small colony of my nanites into your body? That stupid visor of yours kept filtering them out when I tried to go through your mouth.”

“This…” Jack seizes up as what he imagines to be glowing hot coals inside him shift teasingly closer to where he needs it. “This is _your_ fault.” He isn’t sure if it’s a question or an accusation.

Reaper hums pleasantly. “Maybe.”

Jack should be angry, or scared, or something other than _ridiculously turned on_. He wonders, briefly, if it’s worth his time to argue with that coy response. “Fuck me,” he snarls instead.

Reaper rumbles out a laugh - Jack feels the buzz of nanites more than he hears it, feels it resonate with the buzzing under his skin that’s driving him mad - and tugs at his rumpled clothes. They’re done talking.

As soon as his shirt has been pulled off his sticky skin, Jack finds his wrists crossed and held down against the mattress over his head. The grip isn’t too terribly tight, but when he struggles, he can’t budge it at all. Mysteriously, Reaper's hands are busy with removing Jack's clothes so he _shouldn't_ be able to hold him down but Jack doesn’t have the brainpower to process it. The molten core inside him is _moving_ , opening him up-

He gasps again as it pulses inside him, melting, becoming slick and wet and Reaper's hands are on his thighs and it's all he can do to mumble a "please" before Reaper is pushing into him. He throws his head back, wanting to hold onto something but his wrists are pinned too securely. He can still feel Reaper’s fingers digging bruises into his thighs, and he distantly wonders what could possibly be locking his arms above his head.

Reaper kisses him and the tongue that slips into his mouth is abnormally long and flexible and _cold_ , he needs the cold, his body is too hot-

Reaper thrusts once, twice, bending Jack's back until he's curved up off the bed against Reaper's hips, and then unceremoniously he's being _fucked_.

Reaper fucks him hard, _harder_ , goes until Jack's lips are bloody from being bitten and his cries are hoarse, but it doesn't end when they both have come. He feels it - he feels Reaper fill him, but there's barely a falter and Reaper keeps going. He can feel it leak out and run down his back, much in the way his own spend trickles down to his chest, but it's a passing observation.

At some point he's manhandled back onto his front and he doesn't have it in him to hold himself up. Reaper’s fingers embed themselves in his hips to hold him in place, and Jack is sure he’ll have bruises there to match the ones on his thighs. He presses the side of his face into the pillow, still wet with drool from when he had bitten it earlier, and tries to remember to breathe as Reaper takes him. Everything burns but Reaper is cold inside him, and he clings to that.

He comes again with a pitiful moan, tangling his fingers in the sheets and losing himself in the rhythm of Reaper’s thrusts, the way his whole body is rammed forward, allowed to fall back for just a moment, and then rammed forward once more. He tries to rock back and meet Reaper each time, but his limbs feel like they’re made of jello and he can’t get the leverage he needs. He only notices the tears bubbling over onto his cheeks through his closed eyelids when Reaper leans over, chest flush with Jack’s back, and licks them away with that unnaturally flexible tongue.

Something slender and tensile wraps around both of his thighs and spreads them further apart, the chill of its touch leaving a trail of goosebumps. He burrows his nose into his pillow, but it doesn’t do much to dampen the shrill squeak of surprise that escapes from his throat when another tendril prods experimentally at his hole next to Reaper’s dick, still moving steadily in and out.

It’s thinner than a finger, able to push insistently past the resistance of his already-stretched rim and he chokes, squirming uselessly as it drives deep inside him. It crushes up against his prostate, forces an embarrassingly high-pitched moan out of his mouth and then he’s coming again, shuddering weakly. Reaper still doesn’t slow.

A similar appendage, larger, pokes at Jack’s mouth, wriggling between his lips. He forcibly unhooks his jaw and lets it pass over his teeth. The one in his ass starts _growing_ and he nearly howls, but the tentacle in his mouth coils to fill the gap between his palate and his tongue, smothering the sound. He whines around it, stuffed and dizzy with the syrupy desire still running through him. He thinks he can feel Reaper coming inside him a second time but he can’t be sure, stretched to his limit as he is.

The tendril in his ass is as thick as a phallus now and it winds around Reaper’s dick, intensifying every thrust by nearly doubling his size. Jack’s jaw aches and his entire backside is sore, but he still can’t help rutting weakly against his sheets, desperate for relief. Reaper seems to take pity on him and slides the tentacle carefully out of his mouth.

Jack finds himself maneuvered into Reaper's lap and he sags into the cool expanse of the ghost’s chest, pressing lethargic moans into his broad shoulder. Reaper has slowed down, rocking into him almost lazily at this point, and there's something comforting about it. Affectionate. Jack doesn't dwell on it.

Reaper comes in him a final time and he spills onto Reaper's stomach with more of a quiet whimper than anything else. The tendril dissolves, filling what little space is left inside him with thick, cool fluid. It leaks lazily down the back of his thigh when Reaper pulls out, drawing a feeble sob from Jack’s puffy lips at the loss.

Then he is laid back down on his bed, gently - tenderly, even. Fingers card through his hair and clean him off with a cool, damp towel before the sheets are pulled up over his shoulders.

He struggles vainly to look at the Reaper, to see what kind of expression is on his face, but the dark shape doesn't become any clearer.

"Sleep, sunshine," orders the raspy voice, oddly fond, and something clicks in Jack's head.

He falls asleep before he can reach the thought.

**Author's Note:**

> I took a break from a much longer smut piece to write this so... more nsfw R76 on the way, ahaha.


End file.
